


The Visitors

by Sliven



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:18:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sliven/pseuds/Sliven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gríma Wormtongue's last moments in the Golden Hall, awaiting the approach of the fellowship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visitors

_I hear the doorbell ring and suddenly the panic takes me_  
 _The sound so ominously tearing through the silence_  
 _I cannot move, I’m standing, numb and frozen_  
 _Among those things I love so dearly_  
 _The books, the paintings and the furniture_  
…  
 _These walls have witnessed all the anguish of humiliation_  
 _And seen the hope of freedom glow in shining faces_  
 _And now they’ve come to take me, come to break me_  
 _And yet, it isn’t unexpected_  
 _I have been waiting for these visitors_

_Help me_

  


Tidings come to my ear, that Gandalf the Gray has returned. I stand in the hall of Théoden King, I stand beside his throne. I stand here, as the faithful servant I once was. As the faithful servant I still pretend to be. 

Is this the moment of truth? If so, then Valar help me. Whom else could I rely on? I don’t have friends to speak of. Alliances, yes. But friends? Whether or not to trust alliances, I’ll know soon enough.

Though sounds be muffled through the door, I still think I can hear their voices. Are they irritated, angry? I cannot tell. What’s taking them so long?

Standing beside a man I call my King, I contemplate the walls. And higher, as I raise my head, the ceiling. What tales these walls could tell. Luckily, I have never heard them speak.  
And if I ever were to hear them, I would not wish to listen. I know their tales well enough.

I did believe that the wizard would return. As did I fear it. Does he know? Does he suspect? 

He is returned indeed. The day I feared has come to be. And now, I must play the game. Play, and play it well. I must win. For I cannot afford to lose.

I have been waiting for these visitors. 

_Help me._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago, I got inspired while listening to Abba’s “The Visitors” to write a short song fic-thingy about Gríma Wormtongue’s last moments in the Golden Hall, awaiting the approach of the fellowship (TTT). It’s posted in all its original glory somewhere, but I decided to edit it and take the intertwining song lyrics out, making the text stand more on its own. Disclaimer: LOTR characters belong to Tolkien, song lyrics belong to Abba.


End file.
